Somehow the fact that I have been foretelling this for the past week serves only to irritate me. Well, no. What irritates me is that I was polite-passive-lame enough to issue but a mild protest before acquiescing when they declined my request to lower my dosage on Thursday, despite the presence of six evenly sized developing follicles with a few smaller one on each side. So when Saturday's ultrasound revealed, surprise, six mature follicles with two fast approaching runners-up and I kinda wanted to kick myself for not objecting more strenuously when there was an opportunity to do so. Then I wanted to kick my RE when the nurse made it clear that there was no record of my previous IVF drug responses in my chart, nor was there any indication as to why we were doing this in the first place, nor that the RE had agreed that we would be allowed to negotiate when we would cancel (within reason). The fact that nothing was recorded became damning when I discovered that my RE has been gone all week so the entire cycle has been directed by people with whom I have never met or spoken in my life. Thus the directions I have been following were based upon the notion that I am random 34 year-old female attempting to achieve pregnancy through her first superovulatory cycle as opposed to the doomed pregnancy veteran/daring balanced translocation turbo IUI pioneer that I am.
Which is ANNOYING.
When the nurse I met with after the ultrasound called to cancel me an hour after I left the clinic I asked to speak with an RE to see if:
1) 6 mature follicles are really that many under the circumstances [we were trying specifically for multiples after all]; and if so then
2) could we possibly aspirate a few of the mature follicles and then trigger; and if not
3) could we talk about converting to an IVF.
No, she said.
NO? I asked.
No, she said. No you cannot talk to an RE. No, no one here would even consider triggering with 6. No, you cannot convert to IVF. No, we cannot contemplate aspirating. No. And no. Also, canceled. Call us when you start a new cycle, goodbye. PS- no.
I hate her and I am only slightly consoled by the fact that she was wearing jeans folded up to mid-calf in an attempt to convey "funky cropped" but succeeded merely in shouting "basement flooded with sewage" (not that there is anything wrong with that. happens to the best of us, after all. the sewage I mean, not the pants. the twelve-inches-of-folded-wrong-side-of-the-denim-as-cuffs pants shouldn't happen to anyone.)
In the grand scheme of my reproductive failures this cancellation is a minor setback. An irritation. A bug bite. In the grand scheme of my week, however, it sucks the big one.
To buck me up Steve took me out last night for a nine course tasting dinner, paired. It was, in a word, transcendent. Shrimp dumplings in gazpacho with a light light pinot gris. Mussels in a saffron pasta with coconut cream and cilantro, matched with a nice Viognier. My god it was all so good. Then we came home and he surprised me with a present so over the top, so extravagant, so ridiculous... the sort of thing that causes you to suck in your breath and say, "Oh Mr. ROCHESTER!" with eyes like twin stars. A nice piece of jewelry covers a multitude of sins, apparently. If you are that sort of girl. Which I absolutely am.
In sum: I think the local clinic is not so much incompetent as they are completely indifferent but I also think that I knew this already and in the long run it does not matter which because incompetence and indifference can screw things up equally; I got canceled, damn it; Steve is a freaky mutant who is single-celledly preventing me from having children when I am not being preemptively thwarted by an uncaring medical establishment, but he is a nice one.